


Broken Together

by Liora_Holmes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative episode 8x02 scene, Drinking, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liora_Holmes/pseuds/Liora_Holmes
Summary: Arya makes a different choice about which man to spend her evening with on the Eve of Battle.This was going to be a one shot and then 8x04 happened...so now it's not.





	1. Her Miserable Old Shit

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, don't get me wrong I really really love forge sex for Gendarya too, this idea just wouldn't leave my head. So here's 5000 words of Sandor/Arya smut no one asked for. Have fun or whatever. 
> 
> Don't bite my head off, I'm happy Gendry and Arya are together in the show, just wanted to explore what it would look like if she'd gone for Sandor instead, especially given all the great Sandor/Arya moments in 8x03.

“Where are you going?” Arya was surprised to see the Hound look actually disappointed that she was leaving, She would’ve thought he’d want to be left to drink in peace with Beric, not have his little wolf girl tagging along. But no, she supposed he’d sought out her company often enough since coming to Winterfell.

“I’m not spending my final hours with you two miserable old shits”.

She didn’t want to spend her final hours listening to Beric’s sermons. She didn’t know _what_ she wanted. _No_ , she thought shamefully, _I know exactly what I want, just don’t know how to get it_. She didn’t want to die a virgin. It had been haunting her for days now, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. What a bloody stupid thing to care about. But here she was. She wanted to know what it felt like. What the big fuss was about. What it was like to be as close to another person as it was possible to be. Too bad she’d pissed off or scared off every man or boy who might be interested in letting off a little steam. Everyone in Winterfell was terrified of the little faceless woman from Braavos. Even Gendry. _Especially_ Gendry. All he wanted was for her to be his lady. But Arya had given up on being anyone’s lady when she first stepped foot in the House of Black and White. Every time he met her eyes, Arya could see Gendry searching them for little Lady Arya Stark. But Lady Arya Stark was dead. She was no one he was looking for.

She paused, her hand on the latch of the door that led to the library from the battlements. Beric must’ve made a joke, because the mirthless bark of the Hounds laughter rang through the night behind her. She wouldn’t mind spending her last hours with _that_ miserable old shit. Her stomach flipped over unexpectedly at the thought that the Hound might die. Probably would, since he was a bloody reckless idiot most of the time. If he died before she got a chance to see him again…

“Sandor.” She found herself saying.

Beric and the Hound stopped their chatter abruptly.

“Since when do you call me by my name, wolf-girl?” Sandor narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously.

“Since now. Don’t die tonight.”

“Can’t make any promises, _Arya_ ” said the Hound. Her name sounded strange in his voice. But good. Both their voices were thick with emotion, and though she could barely see his face through the snow and the haze from the smoky braziers, she knew he was staring at her intently. Beric stood then. “Three’s a crowd, it seems. May the Lord of Light preserve you both.” He raised the wineskin in a solemn toast and headed down the battlements in the opposite direction. Arya didn’t move. Sandor held her eyes. Then, he stood and came towards her, crossing the distance in a handful of giant strides.

“Thought you were leaving.”

“I was.”

“Was?” Sandor raised an eyebrow at her.

“Promise me.” Arya said. “Promise me you’ll at least _try_ to live.”

Sandor put his hand on hers on the latch. “Bloody freezing out here. If you’re going to keep bleating at me, we’re going inside.” He pushed the door open.

The library was blessedly empty. Sam and Gilly had been sleeping here the past few nights with a little cadre of scribes and maesters. They were all in the crypts now, though. A dying fire flickered in the hearth. Arya put her weapons down on the table, then walked towards the fireplace and took off her gloves to warm her hands. Sandor stalked behind her and stood close behind her back, towering over her.

“Didn’t much care about my life when you left me to die out in the mountains.”

“Don’t care now much about it now. Just don’t want you getting yourself killed unless it’s for a good reason.” She could feel her shoulders shaking and cursed her nervousness.

Sandor was quiet. Then, he growled, “What’s this about, wolf-girl? Losing you nerve before your first battle?”

“I’m not afraid.”

Sandor barked a laugh. “No, you always had more courage than sense, didn’t you?” Sandor wandered over to an overstuffed chair near the fire and sunk down in it, his mail clinking as he did. “have some wine. Helps with the nerves.” Arya approached him and took the wine skin. She drank deep and then stopped, coughing and sputtering. It was sour. “Y’alright?” Sandor asked, knitting his brow in concern.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

The wine made her feel warm all through her body. Sandor’s piercing eyes were searching her own in the dying fire. And that desire, that curiosity that she’d been feeling all night made itself known again.

“You’re not fine, girl. What’s wrong? What do you want from me?”

Arya bit her lip. “It’s stupid. Just can’t sleep. Keep thinking I don’t want to die not knowing…” she couldn’t finish. Maybe she should’ve gone and found Gendry. This would be easier with him. She was pretty sure if she so much as hinted he should kiss her, Gendry would be on her in a second.

“Knowing what?” growled Sandor. _did he have to be so bloody dense?_

Arya took a deep breath. It wasn’t like she was afraid of him. And if he decided to tell anyone about this tomorrow, she could always kill him. If there even was a tomorrow. Her words came out in a nervous rush. “Never been with a man. Seen it, but never tried it. Don’t want to die not knowing.”

Sandor was quiet for a long moment after that, and took a deep swig of his wine before speaking. When he wiped his mouth off and met her eyes, she saw the lust in them. “Would’ve thought youd’ve gotten a proper fuck in Braavos.”

“Too busy training.” She was pacing nervously, and he was watching her like a hawk now, his eyes travelling up and down her body, sizing her up.

“Go find your blacksmith bastard, then. He’ll be happy to give you a nice tumble before the world ends, he’s been clear enough about that.”

“I can’t…I can’t. He’s…he’s afraid of me. I’m tired of everyone being afraid of me. He wants me to be his lady. And I’m no one’s lady. Not anymore.”

Sandor barked a laugh again. “No, you’re as much a lady as I am a Ser.”

“ _You’re_ not afraid of me.”

“No, I’m not.”

The silence stretched between them. Arya stopped pacing when felt a sharp pang of embarrassment flood through her. “If you don’t want to I…”

“’Course I _want_ to, wolf-girl.” He cut her off. He sounded almost angry. “Might be the last night on bloody earth, ‘course I _want_ to. But you shouldn’t sell yourself short, you grew up pretty since I last saw you, you don’t need to settle for a miserable old shit like me. Go find your blacksmith. Or tap on the shoulder of any of those handsome knights manning the walls. Just say the word and any of them would spare an hour to make sweet love to a pretty maid…”

At this, Arya regained her courage. Fuck him for thinking he knew what she wanted. Fuck him for acting like she was some dumb girl. Fuck him for not believing her that she wanted him. She knew who she wanted. She strode forward to where the Hound was sitting. His eyes looked a bit confused, but still flickered with desire. In a moment, she was straddling him in his lap. And then, she leaned forward and kissed him.

His lips were chapped and rough on the outside, and she could feel where the skin turned to scar tissue on the right side of his face. It was a quick kiss to start, and when he broke it, she thought he was going to push her off…but instead his massive arm came behind her backside, holding her to him as she met his eyes. Her legs were parted, and she could feel the hard muscles of his thighs against her as he pulled her closer to his chest. He was so tall that even sitting on top of his lap, she still had to look up a little to kiss him.

“Don’t want a handsome knight. Want you.” She kissed him again, and this time, he growled low in his chest and kissed her back. His lips felt warm and soft now, and he threaded his fingers into her hair, pulling the tie that held it back and letting it fall around her shoulders and running his fingers through it. She put her small hand on his good cheek to pull him closer, and she felt something – she realized It must be his cock – harden beneath her as she deepened the kiss. He was holding her to him with his forearm, almost crushing her small waist. She couldn’t get free from it if she tried. And she loved how it felt.

After a moment she pulled back, resting her forehead on his. “And I don’t want someone to make sweet love to me. I want someone to _fuck_ me.” At this, Sandor bared his teeth and growled, grabbing her shoulders and grinding her into his hardening erection. She had mistaken it at first, she realized, for a muscle in his thigh. It was a _big_ bulge. He kissed her hungrily, thrusting his tongue into her mouth to dance with hers. He tasted like wine. She tried to get her tongue into his mouth, but he was taking charge, controlling the kiss, moving her head where he wanted it. After a little while, he pulled back, and Arya couldn’t help but grin at him. It felt so _good_. When she smiled at him, he groaned softly, and pulled her back to him a little more gently, letting her explore his mouth with her tongue, and letting her hands roam on his chest and wind their way into the hair on the back of his neck. He rested both his huge hands on her hips, almost spanning her thin waist with his two hands, and pulled back again, looking at her with that same concerned raise of an eyebrow.

  
“You’re still so bloody small. And I’m big. S’gonna hurt.”

“I’m not afraid of pain.” She knew it was supposed to hurt the first time. And she knew it would hurt more with him. She didn’t care. She wasn’t dying without knowing how it felt. Not when just the kissing part had felt _this_ good. She reached hem of his jerkin, searching under it for the laces of his breaches. He chuckled at her and put his hand down to stop her, pulling it out and lacing his fingers with hers. “Easy, woman. You wanna feel what it’s like, we’re gonna take our time.” He leaned down to nuzzle her neck, and his beard scratched against her. She heard herself sigh and felt him smile against her neck. He found a little place near where she could feel her pulse and sucked at it. “Gonna mark you as mine, wolf-girl. If you’re crazy enough to let me have you, I’m never letting you go.” Arya’s stomach turned over on itself with emotion. She shoved the feelings away. No time to think too much about a tomorrow that probably wasn’t coming.

It was getting too hot, and Arya took a moment to shuck off her fur cloak and throw it to the floor. Sandor took the same moment to start at the clasps on his outer jacket, shedding it quickly, then stood the two of them up, his hand still on the small of her back, pulling the chainmail shirt beneath up over his head and discarding his sword. They hit the ground with a clang, leaving him in a thin cotton tunic and breeches. He pulled her back down to him and lay his palm over one of her breasts and squeezed it softly. “You didn’t have these when I last saw you, girl. Let me see them.” She flushed.

He made quick work of her sword belt and threw it to the ground. Then his hands were under her own long jerkin, with just the fabric of her breeches separating his skin from hers. She could feel the heat of his palms on the tops of her thighs. There wasn’t much room to move up further and she found herself scrambling to undo the clasps and laces until her jerkin and doublet joined the rest of their clothes in a heap on the library floor. She was left in the thin cotton shirt she wore to contain her breasts when she fought. As soon as her doublet hit the floor, Sandor’s hands moved hungrily to her breasts, squeezing them with more gentleness than she would have expected from his rough, calloused hands. Her nipples felt raw and hard, like they did in a chill wind. Sandor put the pad of his huge thumb on one of them and circled it. A jolt of pure pleasure shot through Arya, and she felt her smallclothes getting uncomfortably wet beneath her breeches. She bit her lip to hold back a moan as he continued with the other nipple, sliding it between his thumb and forefinger through the cotton as she threw her head back and ground into his lap. Her body was responding to his touch before she even had time to decide what to do. She’d always assumed men touched women’s tits for their own pleasure. She’d had no idea it could make her feel this way.

She quickly moved her fingers to the laces at the back of the shirt, loosening them until Sandor could pull it roughly over her head and throw it aside. Before she even had time to register that she was naked before him, he had put his arm around her to hold her in place and leaned down to lick one of her nipples. She moaned when he did that, the warm wetness of his tongue even better than his fingers. He paused and chuckled at her. “Aye, she likes that,” he said, before starting his relentless assault on her tits again. She started whining, a high pitched, needy whine, like a puppy, but she couldn’t help it. She was soaking with desire for him, wetter than she’d ever found herself when she fumbled around in the dark with her own fingers.

Sandor moved back up to kissing her neck, pinching her nipple now and again and making her gasp and grind herself into him, seeking friction and relief. She reached to the hem of his shirt and he put his hand over hers, hesitating. “Not a pretty sight under there, girl.”

“Don’t care. Wanna touch you.” said Arya breathlessly, and tugged at his hem until he relented and let her pull his tunic off over his head. His chest was crisscrossed by scars, pitted in places where arrow wounds had healed. But under the scars were the huge, chiseled muscles of the warrior he was. Arya ran her hands over them approvingly and met his eyes, biting her lip. “I like the scars. Proves you’re dangerous.”

His eyes alit on her stomach, and he traced the healing gashes there, still red and raised where the scar tissue was forming. It would be years yet before they faded to the white lines that were on his chest. He placed his palm flat on her belly, as if he were feeling where a child would be, and an unexpected pang of sadness and longing shot through Arya. There were dozens of cuts there where the Waif had slashed at her. She knew her insides must be just as cut up. Somehow, she’d survived, but she doubted there was anything left in there that would let her bear a child. She pushed Sandor’s hand away and with it, any thoughts about her womb.

“Need me to kill the cunt that gave those to you? Just point the way.” Sandor’s muttered darkly.

“You really think I let the cunt that did this live? What do you take me for, an amateur?”

“Aye, I suppose you don’t need me to do your killing for you anymore, do you?”

“Never did, never will.”

“Good. I like my women strong.” He rocked his hips into her when he said it and captured her lips with his again. She moaned into him as his hands found her breasts again, and the need that had cooled slightly was back in full force. “Sandor. _More_.” She reached again to the laces on his breaches, and he grabbed her hands again, this time pulling them behind her back and holding them there lightly with one of his hands. “You first.” He growled, and reached to her breaches, tugging at them insistently. “Up”. he commanded, and she stood, stepping out of her breeches and smallclothes in one movement until she was naked in the flickering firelight. Sandor breathed in sharply as he looked her up and down, his eyes wide and appreciative. “Fucking gorgeous,” he rasped. Arya blushed, but didn’t have time to start feeling embarrassed before the Hound’s hand shot out pulled her back into his lap, facing away from him, pushing her legs apart roughly as he kissed her neck. And then his fingers were _there_ , at the place where the desire and wetness and _need_ had been pooling all night and she moaned out a breathless, long “fuuuck” as he started to circle the pads of his fingers on her. “So wet and ready for me, girl” he growled into her ear. “Gonna make you come on my fingers before my cock even gets near you.” Arya shuddered at the promise. She thought that maybe she’d peaked before, playing with herself in the dark, but it hadn’t been as impressive as everyone said it would be. She was pretty sure the Hound intended to make sure she was impressed. This already felt a thousand times better than anything she’d figured out how to do.

Sandor’s touch was surprisingly gentle as he worked her into a moaning, boneless state, her head lolling back on his shoulder and his other hand pinching her nipples. Then, his hand travelled down to her entrance and he slowly pushed one finger inside her. She gasped. His finger was much bigger than her own, and certainly the biggest thing she’d ever tried to put inside herself, and she could feel the stretch, but it felt _good_ , like stretching tired muscles out when they’d cramped up. She could hear the wet sounds his finger made as he moved it in and out of her. It sounded delightfully vulgar, and she could smell the scent of her own arousal filling the air. The finger inside her didn’t add pleasure exactly, but it just felt so _right_ to be filled up like this while he built her pleasure, circling closer and more firmly on her clit. He added a second finger and she moaned his name again, then, he was fucking her with his fingers in earnest, and the pressure deep in her was building, she was wound so tight that she couldn’t even imaging what it would be like to let it go, but she heard herself making those little whines like a puppy as the pleasure made her feel tighter, and tighter…and then his rough voice was in her ear again whispering “That’s it. Come for me, Arya” and she was over the edge and moaning his name as she felt herself clench hard around his fingers, and she felt him suck on her neck and her shoulder as she thrashed in his lap, until the waves of pleasure ebbed away and she felt weightless and relaxed against him.

“Gods” was all she could breathe out as she came down from the high, and she could hear him chuckling into her neck, clearly pleased as punch with himself. She was still moving slightly, rocking against him, and she could feel that he’d unlaced his breeches behind her, his cock now jutting upwards against the small of her back. It was hard and thick, and she could feel a wetness at the tip. She had to see it. And maybe wipe that smirk off his face.

Quick as a flash she jumped out of his lap and crouched between his legs, pulling on the ties of his breeches and the small clothes underneath. He helped her, and then she saw it, springing upwards from his lap. She’d seen cocks before, and he wasn’t unusually long, but he was thick, and the bright red head of his cock was weeping a white liquid. She smiled up at him devilishly, grasped the base of his cock lightly, then brought her tongue down and licked the liquid off the tip, swirling it around the head like she was eating a candy. Sandor groaned loudly like he’d been punched in the gut, and threw his head back, opening his legs wider to make more room for her between them. She leaned forward again, and this time kissed the tip, then opened her mouth to take him into her mouth. “Arya” he groaned above her. She loved the way her name sounded when he said it like that. She wanted to make him say it again. Suddenly, he made a strained little noise and pulled her mouth off of him. “You keep doing that, and I’ll spend in your mouth. Then you won’t get to know what it feels like to have this inside you,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her as he held his cock. She felt a rush of desire flash through her again. She wasn’t sure where he would take her. He’d need to lay her down somewhere, she supposed. She didn’t know much about this, really. She realized she’d been looking around the room from her spot on the ground, and she must’ve looked nervous, because the Hound helped her to her feet and back into his lap looking bloody concerned again. “We don’t have to, girl. Nothing wrong with changing your mind.” He brushed a lock of hair out of her face while he said it.

“Haven’t changed my mind” she said seriously.

Sandor groaned slightly. “Thank the gods.” And then he was back in control, kissing her fiercely, moving her body where he wanted her in his lap, until she found herself with his thick cock laying between her lips, rubbing up on her pearl as he rocked against her. She was soaking his cock with her juices, and his mouth was hanging open as he panted, sucking in a breath every time she pushed forward for more friction. Then, to her surprise, he was lifting her up, sliding her entrance against his cock until she was up on her knees with the tip of his cock at her entrance, pushing firmly upwards. She felt a wave of panic realizing he meant for her to sit down on his cock. She’d have to do the moving back and forth then, wouldn’t she? She didn’t know how…she’d always pictured herself on her back while some man grunted above her. This was a much more appealing way to couple, but…”Sandor, I don’t know how…”

“I’ve got you.” And she realized his strong arm around her waist were more than enough to hold her up by itself. “We’ll go slow. Tell me if it’s too much and we’ll stop.” He began to slowly push inside of her, and she felt the stretch she’d felt with his fingers. “Oh…” he stopped pushing and she realized he’d misunderstood. “Don’t stop.” He caught her eyes and smiled wolfishly as he kept pushing into her. The deeper he went, the more the stretching gave way to a more painful burning feeling. But even at its worst it was better than the aches and pains she carried around every day from old wounds. It was easy enough to ignore and focus on the tremendously satisfying feeling of being _filled._ Her mouth was hanging open, but she was holding her breath at the strange new sensation, until Sandor whispered in her ear “Relax. Don’t forget to breathe, she-wolf.” She let out a shaky breath and took in another one, willing her body to relax. And when it did, the pain lessened slightly, and he slid the rest of the way in until he was buried in her. He groaned. “So bloody tight. You feel amazing.” He seemed to be luxuriating in the feeling for a moment, kissing her neck and shifting slightly within her, then came back to reality.

“You alright?” he asked. Arya nodded.

Sandor grinned down at her and gave her a quick kiss. “You wanted to know what it felt like. So? How does it feel?” At this, he moved his hips and hers together slightly, and Arya gasped at the delicious friction the movement gave.

“So good”, she moaned. “So _full_ ”

Sandor groaned appreciatively in response and began to move again, sliding her slowly up and down his cock. When he was at his deepest, his cock hit something inside her that made her see stars. She began moving her own hips, wanting him to keep fucking her deeper, where that spot was, chasing his cock when he tried to pull further out of her. He wasn’t getting what she was trying to do, and she was getting increasingly impatient.

“Deeper” she breathed out. “Please, Sandor, fuck me deeper.” Then, he changed what he was doing, and started fucking her with fast, deep strokes, never pulling all the way out, hitting that amazing spot every time until she was panting “there, there, please, there, right there…” and she could feel another orgasm building and building, she just needed more…

She let out a gasp of protest when he stopped and lifted her off of him, their bodies separating with a wet noise. “No…” she whined. “Don’t stop.”

“Oh, we’re not stopping.” he growled. He stood, picking her up with him like she didn’t weigh a thing as she instinctively wrapped her legs around her. He turned around and put her down in the chair, then flipped her over with his hands, moving her like a doll until she was how he wanted her, her knees spread apart with her ass up in the air, her hands braced against the back of the chair. “Perfect” he said, his voice dripping with lust, as he reached out to slide a finger through her folds.

Arya looked over her shoulder at him, towering over her, lazily stroking his cock with one hand as his fingers played between her legs, clearly admiring the view. He looked almost hypnotized with lust, and she found herself pleased to have brought him to such a state. Her need for his cock was thrumming inside her, though, and before too long she interrupted his reverie. “Are you going to get on with it, then, or just stare at me?”

Sandor growled, grabbing her hips roughly, and in one swift movement, had sheathed himself in her again. Arya cried out at the sudden, overwhelming sensation, and understood at once why he’d turned her over. As if he was reading her mind, he leaned forward to talk into her ear. “You want it hard and deep, woman, I’ll give you hard and deep. I’ll show you how a dog fucks a wolf.” And he began to pump into her again, finding a rhythm that had him hitting that spot inside her with every stroke, and she cried out every time he hit it, until she was babbling “there, there, Sandor, yes…please, harder, more,” as her pleasure built. She looked over her shoulder at him and saw him with his head thrown back, his eyes glazed over with pure ecstasy. Then, he met her eyes and gave her a devilish grin, snaking his hand underneath them to where they joined, and swirling his fingers around her nub while he fucked her with reckless abandon. It didn’t take long for her to fall apart again with a cry, arching her back towards him as she did, and soon after she began, his arms were around her pulling her up flush against his chest as he roared out his own released with a curse. She felt him spurt, driving into her as deep as he could, and he held her tight in trembling arms for a moment until he began to soften inside her, and she collapsed forward again with him, his hands outside hers bracing on the couch, catching their breath, as he kissed her neck.

When he pulled out of her, she made a strangled noise of disappointment. Now that she knew what it was to be full, she felt so _empty_ without him. But as reality swept back to her, the soreness she had been ignoring rushed back too, and she was relieved when he picked her back up to curl in his lap. He pulled up his own shirt and cleaned off his cock, then reached over and gently wiped his seed away from her thighs. When the dry cloth brushed her entrance, she hissed in pain. “You alright?” he asked, kissing her head and speaking into her hair. “Fine” she said. “Just a little sore.”

“Told you it would hurt.”

“Didn’t hurt while it was going on.”

“Good. It’ll be even better next time.” Arya froze in his arms. _Next time_. She said nothing. She couldn’t think about next time. Not when they might both die.

“Shouldn’t have come inside you”. He muttered. “last thing you need is a babe in your belly. Couldn’t help myself, though. Gods, woman, the _sounds_ you were making. Couldn’t resist.” he grinned lecherously at her and she blushed.

“If it’s a problem,” she whispered, “It means we survived.”

“Aye”.

They sat there together for what must have been an hour, sometimes talking quietly about nothing in particular, or sitting in silence staring at the dying fire, lost in their own thoughts, but together, her head in his chest, his arms around her. Then, soon, too soon, they heard the horns.

“Time to go, girl.”

They dressed hastily in silence. He helped her lace up her shirt, she helped him with the straps on his chainmail. Soon, too soon, they were dressed, only a little disheveled. Sandor reached down and grabbed Arya’s chin, tilting her face up to his. “Hey. Don’t go getting yourself killed. I don’t mean for this to be the last time I see you, wolf-girl. Stay out of fights you can’t win, don’t get cornered. If you need me, find me. I’ll have your back. And don’t go trying to be a hero off on your own.” Arya wasn’t sure she could promise all that.

“Stay alive, Hound”. She whispered.

“Stay alive, Wolf.”

He drew his sword and smiled grimly. “Let’s go kill some dead bastards.” Arya smiled back.

The went out together to the battlements, separating when they had to as she took her place on the wall and he took his in the courtyard. And the dead came.


	2. Only One Thing that Would Make Him Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was going to leave it there...but then 8x04 happened and it started to seem an awful lot like this friendship/ship train might be picking up steam...and so I wrote another 3000 words of fluff. Or as fluffy as Arya and Sandor get: ie, Sandor has a drinking problem, Arya has PTSD issues, and they're both absolutely terrible at feelings. 
> 
> Also Sandor's internal monologue has even more cursing than he says outloud. You've been warned.
> 
> Maybe will write more smut to follow this directly. We'll see.

“She could’ve made you happy for a little while.” The little bird’s voice rang out, clear as always, over the dull roar of the feast. The pretty girl who had been trying to sleep with him had slunk away down to her next target, a pout on her face.

“There’s only one thing that would make me happy”, Sandor mumbled at the Little Bird. The wine had officially fully gotten to him now. He was going to be lost to it tonight and wake up with a pounding head. For the best. Fuck tonight. Fuck this fucking feast. Fuck Arya for not being at it. Fuck tomorrow. He was supposed to be dead. That had been the plan. Go down swinging. And then the fucking wolf bitch. Who he’d fucked. And then who he’d had to go save. Then she went off like he’d told her _not_ to and saved the damn world, and here he was, facing down her gorgeous redhead sister.

He realized Sansa had asked him what would make him happy.

“That’s my fucking business!” his heard his voice go up an octave when he said it. It would certainly do him no good to have Sansa know he was thinking about having his cock in her little sister.

And then Sansa told him about feeding that Bolton bastard to hounds and crediting him and Littlefinger for making her who she was, and he was even _more_ sure that it would be best to keep any mention of Arya out of this conversation. If Sansa heard what he’d done before the battle, He was pretty sure _this_ little bird would peck his bloody eyes out before telling their brother and having him set that damn direwolf on him. Sandor didn’t fear much, but even he had to admit that these Stark girls were scary now. Far cry from the little chirping bird and the half-feral guttersnipe they’d been when he’d met them in these halls all those years ago.

Sansa stood, and left. Good. There was a time when she was the prettiest thing in the world to him. Well, bugger that, he had to admit, she was still _close_ to the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. But he didn’t want her like he once did. That had been a long time ago, before he’d left the Lannisters, before the Blackwater and the Brotherhood and before this bullshit with the White Walkers and, if he was honest with himself, before Arya. Riding around the Riverlands with that infuriating little girl…it had changed some things in him, that’s for sure.

“Have you seen Arya?” he heard the new Lord of Storm’s End asking around. Jealousy flared in him. He was _way_ too drunk to be in the same room with this little shit sniffing around after his girl. He used to think Gendry was all right, they’d fought enough side by side…but tonight Sandor knew he was liable to start a fight if he stuck around too long. Sandor stood, wobbling, and wandered his way back to his rooms.

He got most of the way there, ended up sitting himself down on a stone bench to have another swig of wine, and then ended up sitting there longer. Nice bench. Cold felt good, wine made him warm. He vaguely noticed Brienne of Tarth wandering off with the Kingslayer and toasted to them silently. Good for the maid of Tarth. So much for Sandor. Shit night. Shit wine. Shitty new little Lord of Storms End. And where in seven hells _had_ Arya been?

“You get lost on the way back to your rooms?” her little smooth voice startled him out of his stupor. She used to be squeaky, indignant. Now, whenever she talked, it was like every word is controlled. She’d grown up. His mind flashed back to her begging him to fuck her deeper and he smirked to himself. Maybe not _always_ so controlled.

“What, too drunk to answer?” _Shit_ , Sandor thought. He’d done that thing he was prone to when he was drunk where he got lost in thought and left long silences in conversations.

Arya sat down next to him and took the wineskin out of his hand, taking a long, glugging drink. She shrugged. “Better than the stuff you were drinking the other night.” She said. Sandor took it back and brought it to his lips, only to find it pulled back down by the little woman next to him. “I’ve been around you drunk a thousand times, Sandor. You’ve definitely had enough.”

“’M fine” muttered Sandor. Arya brought out her own wineskin and handed it to him. He drank it hungrily. Damn. Water. “Drink the water. You won’t have as big a headache in the morning.”

“I don’t need bloody tending, wolf-girl.”

“Sure you don’t. I heard that song plenty of times in the Riverlands, Hound. Just drink the damn water.”

He glared at her. “Did your blacksmith bastard ever find you?”

“Not a bastard anymore, apparently.” She said softly. “He asked me to marry him.”

 _Well fuck. That was quick enough._ Sandor snatched his wineskin back from Arya’s hand and she grasped at it in surprise. He held it aloft high above her head in a toast. “To the new lady of Storm’s End then” he sneered.

As he brought the wineskin to his lips, Arya snatched it back, spilling some of the wine down his front. Then, before he could react, she had chucked it out a nearby window. “Little bitch.” He snarled.

Arya slapped him in the face. Hard. Damn, but the girl had gotten strong. His ears were ringing, though that could have been from the wine, he supposed. She was up on her knees to be level with his face as he frowned at her. She raised her hand to hit him again, and he grabbed her wrist. “Hit me again and I’ll hit you back.”

“I said _no,_ you ass.”

“What?”

“To Gendry. I said no.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. “Why?”

“Same reason I told you the other night. I’m no one’s lady.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t marry him.” Sandor took a drink of the water. He’d calmed a little, but this conversation was still ripping at his insides in a way he didn’t like. He needed to stop thinking about the blacksmith kissing her, his hands on her… “They’ll make you. You’re a Stark. He’s a Baratheon. And you like him well enough, and he likes you more than that. He’ll ask the queen and your brother, and it’ll happen. That’s how these things happen. And…and you’ll be fine.” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes while he said the last part, but he knew it was true. Better she be sold off to the blacksmith than someone else, he supposed.

“Gendry wouldn’t do that. And if he does, I’ll kill him.”

“No you won’t. But if he ever hurts you, just say the word and I’ll…”

She pushed at his shoulders in fury. “Don’t you tell me what I will and won’t do.” And then, she was kissing him again, hard and longing, with both of her hands on his face, one right where the burn was, where he couldn’t feel, but she was touching it like she didn’t even care…he was far too drunk to say no this. Probably too drunk to _do_ much about it, but he wasn’t going to stop her from kissing him. He threw an arm around her back and pulled her flush against him, and he felt her smile against his lips. She liked it when he held her tight against him, he noticed that the other night, too. She liked _him_. It was almost too much to understand. He settled for kissing her back as best he could, fighting with her for dominance, one of his hands, cradling the back of her head, where her hair was still in one of those damn top knots she wore now. He pulled that out. He liked her hair down around her shoulders. It was so different than it had been when she’d left him for dead in the Vale years ago, it was longer, and fuller and softer…

“Ahem”. A pointed cough snapped both of them to their senses. Sandor dropped the girl like she was made of fire and swiveled his head to see Tyrion Lannister standing in the hall. Both he and Arya started talking at once. “You tell anyone, especially her bloody sister…” “You tell anyone, especially my brother…” Arya had a knife out. Seven hells the girl was fast with that thing. Tyrion’s eyes widened in surprise and he put his hands up in surrender. “Easy, my lady, my lord. Your secret is safe with me, I’ve no doubt both of you are capable of ending my life, no need for a demonstration. But I might suggest a less-used corridor, or a chamber, perhaps? A lot of people leaving the feast right now.” Tyrion gave an insufferable wink and strode off back the way he came.

Arya settled back next to Sandor, and he placed his arm behind her on the bench, innocent enough that he could pull it back if anyone saw, close enough that she could still lean back against him. “You should go, wolf-girl.”

“You mean _we_ should go.” She looked up at him impishly. He could feel his cock stirring a little, but it was still no good. He was drunk off his ass and bloody _tired_. He hadn’t slept well the two night before, while they spent the days after the battle hauling bodies to pyres and digging themselves out, and the night before the battle itself…well neither of them had slept the night before that. He studied her face in the flickering light and saw that she had huge bags under her eyes. “No, Arya. Not no forever, no tonight. I’m useless like this. Get some rest. The world will still be here tomorrow, and you look like you haven’t slept since you killed the bloody Night King.”

“I haven’t.”

Sandor frowned at her. “You must be tired.”

“Couldn’t sleep last night. Or the night before. It was all too…much.”

“Aye. I know how that is. All the more reason to get you to bed tonight.”

She smiled at him with that mischievous look in her eye again. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You should take me to bed.”

He smirked at her and held her chin gently in his hand. “You’re cute when you’re horny, girl, but you haven’t slept in three days. I’m not going to be responsible for you passing out in your porridge tomorrow morning in front of the Dragon Queen.”

A shade of worry and fear passed over Arya’s face. “Please. I…I’ll sleep better I think…if you’re there.” The flash of vulnerability in his voice about broke his heart in two. The girl who never asked for anything was asking for him. How the hell could he refuse her?

“Fine, but we’re _sleeping_ , girl. I’m bloody tired and my cock doesn’t work after the fifteenth goblet of wine or so anyway.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had fifteen goblets of wine, then.”

“Maybe _you_ should’ve come to the bloody feast and asked me to fuck you earlier, then I would've drowned myself in your cunt instead of arbor red.”

She smirked. “You drowned yourself in Arbor Red because you were sad I wasn’t at the feast?”

“Shut up.”

She kissed him again, quickly this time. “My chambers are closer to here than yours.”

“They are?” Sandor had been pretty sure he was going the right way. “This castle is bloody confusing.

Arya rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, I’m sure _that’s_ why you got lost. She shoved the water skin into his hands again. “Finish this.”

“I’m fine.”

“Just shut up and finish it.” He obeyed as she led him down a few corridors, and he recognized that he was in the part of the central tower where the Lord and Ladies of Winterfell stayed. He frowned at her. “Your family’s around here. I shouldn’t stay.”

“Why?”

He barked out a laugh. “I’d rather keep my balls, thanks.”

“I won’t let them hurt you. Besides, Jon doesn’t give a shit anymore anyway. He’ll be fucking his dragon queen. He’s barely said ten words to me since the battle.” Sandor frowned at that. It was unlike the King in the North to be _that_ cold to his sister. He loved his sisters and brother more than anything, it was easy enough to tell that. A problem for tomorrow.

Arya’s rooms were warm. A fire was lit in the hearth, and the floor radiated that strange heat that he understood had something to do with the hot springs under the castle. Better yet, there was a big, warm bed with a feather mattress and a ton of furs that looked damn inviting. When they closed the door behind them, Arya turned and latched it, then sagged a little into his side. He scooped her up in his arms, one arm under her neck and one under her knees and carried her to the bed. She was so damn tired. He’d seen her this tired before, after the red wedding, after she’d awoken from the big bash on the head he’d given her to avoid her running off and doing something stupid, and she’d stayed awake in the saddle for three bloody days out of pure spite, bitching at him the whole way, constantly trying to run away or scream out or otherwise be difficult, until he threatened to bind and gag her if she continued. He’d found her crying by the fire when he came back from hunting the third night, and pretended not to notice, but she was so tired she finally let him get her lying down on bedroll to try and sleep instead of sitting up staring at him all night. She cried herself to sleep that night, and he remembered staying awake until her sobs stopped, tormented by them, and tormented by the fact that he bloody cared.

Tonight, though, she wasn’t crying. She’d nodded off in his arms in the distance from the door to the bed. The girl really _was_ exhausted. How could she not be, he supposed. She’d just saved the whole damn world. He laid her down gently, then frowned at the door behind him. He did _not_ want to be awakened in Arya’s bed by Jon Snow or Sansa Stark. He pulled a table in front of the door. No one getting in here without at least some warning, even if they had the key. Arya stirred behind him. “You’re being ridiculous.” She muttered sleepily.

“You’re forgetting that your brother’s new woman has dragons. I’m not getting burned alive for being caught in your bed”. He stripped off his clothes and armor, leaving himself in just breeches and a tunic, and thankfully not wobbling too much. The worst of the wine’s effects had faded. He did have to piss like a horse, though. “Where’s the privy?”

“Out through that door you just barricaded.” She said with amusement. _Fuck_. “What’s outside these windows?”

She laughed. “Just bushes. You gonna piss out the window?”

“You’re gods damned right I am.” And he did, Arya snickering behind him. He glared back at her as he laced up his breeches again. “Grow up, little wolf.”

“I thought I was grown up enough for you now.” She had that wicked grin again as he slipped into the furs next to her, and she kissed his shoulder. Then, she was on top of him, kissing him. He moaned into her mouth and pulled her close again, hard against him, so hard that she squeaked a little in surprise, and he gave into the kiss for a while. Then, he sat her up and undid her cloak, leaving her in her long, high necked undercoat, which he began to unlace. “You” he said, taking her chin in his hand as she went to kiss him again, “Need to sleep. And so do I.” he leaned down to give her a peck on the lips. “ _If_ you’re good and go to sleep now, I promise I’ll fuck you properly when we wake up. Hells, I fuck you as often as you ask tomorrow, that’s a promise.”

Then, he pushed the jacket off her shoulders and his eyes widened in surprise. “Seven hells, Arya.”

Around her neck were burns, two, bright red burns, peeling and obviously covered in some sort of ointment. They were shaped like two huge hands, strangling her neck.

“They’re from where he touched me.” She said quietly. “Sam says they’ll heel just like burns do. But they’ll scar.”

Sandor grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “You shouldn’t have run off alone like that. That thing almost killed you.”

“It didn’t.”

“Aye.” He kissed her forehead. “Aye, that’s what matters. Just don’t do it again.”

She looked up at him. “I keep…when I close my eyes, I still see him, still _feel_ his hands. And I’m…afraid. I don’t even think I was afraid when I was doing it, too much anger, had to focus…but now…”

Sandor kissed her soundly on the mouth. “Now, tonight, you’ve got me.” He pushed the jacket the rest of the way off and settled her against his chest. She threw her legs over his as if trying to be as close to him as possible, and he wrapped his large arms around her.

“I like the scars, by the way” he whispered to her. “Proves you’re dangerous.” He felt her smile against his chest. Soon, he felt her slump and relax against him. He laid awake for a moment, pondering how strangely normal this felt. Almost like he wasn’t a sad ugly drunk curled up with a crazy wolf girl with blood so noble he shouldn’t even be thinking about her, let alone touching her. He couldn’t quite hate himself for it the way he knew should, though. And pretty soon sleep found him too.


	3. The Hour of the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, um, here's another 4000 words of smut? With feelings? These two are bad at feelings. 
> 
> Anyway, very little plot here, just sexytimes. You're welcome and/or I'm sorry.

Arya was cold. Ice Blue eyes, unnatural crystal, bored themselves into her grey ones. The cold started at her neck, then down her chest, racing too quickly, too quickly down her arms…the dagger in her hands, she could drop it, grab it in her other hand…the Valyrian steel dagger dropped from frozen fingers, but her other hand wouldn’t move, couldn’t move…the Night king grabbed the dagger with unseen hands, sliced at her belly, the old wounds opening, and then she was drowning in the Braavosi harbor, gasping for air, so cold…so cold…

“Girl. Wolf-girl. ARYA”. She was being shaken. A voice was coming from above the water, she reached for it but she couldn’t get there…she was sinking. She screamed…and was suddenly awake and her cheek hurt. She opened her eyes, blearily, and saw Sandor Clegane poised with his hand about to slap her face again. She blinked at him sleepily, and his hand came down to her face to cup her chin rubbing her cheek with his giant thumb where he had just struck it. “You were screaming. Couldn’t get you awake. Y’alright?”

She blinked in the darkness. She was clutching at the Hound’s arms with white knuckles. Moonlight was streaming in the window, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to see him. See that he was real. That they were really here. Still alive. She still felt so cold and dead. “It’s so dark.” She whispered. “Can you light a candle?”

Sandor had moved his hands to her wrists, and squeezed them, waking her up slightly to the reality of who she was sharing a bed with. Right. The Hound wouldn’t light a candle for her. Surprisingly, he moved reluctantly towards the side table, rooting around for matches, but his hands seemed to be shaking slightly. “I’ve got it, Hound, I’ve got it.” She whispered, and fished the matches off her own side table, lighting a candle and placing it in the small lantern to spread the diffuse candlelight around the room. It was pitch black outside, still, and the castle was silent. And Arya was lying in a bed, in her childhood bed, with a half-naked Sandor Clegane. The light flickered over his features. His hair was even more disheveled than usual, and if Arya was not so used to the pitted, red scars on his cheek and his mangled ear, it would have been a monstrous sight in the flickering light. As it was, it was sort of comforting. She’d woken up to his face more than almost anyone else’s in the past few years. She’d hated waking up next to this face. A couple times, she’d woken up to this face and tried to kill him. But she’d never woken up afraid to this face.  

“What’re you staring at, wolf girl?” he grumbled. “It’s the middle of the night. C’mere and go back to sleep.” He pulled her down to splay against his chest. On her own accord, she threw a small leg over his, pressing her front against his side. His arm held her tight and she snuggled close to him. He pulled the furs up over them and she finally, finally felt warm. She looked up at him, just seeing his chin looming above her. “It was so cold…” she said.

“Mhm?”

“In my dream. It was so cold.”

He let out a snort of a laugh., “funny, in my nightmares I’m always too fucking hot.”

The Hound was asleep again just a moment later, snoring softly. She settled against him, but felt his cock, lying half hard near her thigh. She was tired. And he clearly wanted to go back to sleep. But she felt the same desperation she felt the night before the battle. What if she never got to be here again? With him? What if he was right, and the Dragon Queen would make her marry Gendry, or someone else? What if Jon did burst in in the morning and feed Sandor to the Dragons? Not that Arya meant to let that happen, but everything seemed to be moving so fast this winter. She felt a deep pull to hold this moment, in the dark, with her Hound. To claim it for just the two of them.

She began to slowly rub her thigh near his cock. He didn’t stir. He was holding her left hand in his, against his chest, and she had to pull hard to get it free of his grip. When she did, she gripped his cock in her fist. It was much smaller that it was when he was fully erect – by the time she’d seen it the other night, it had been hard as steel. Half hard, it flopped around unlike any body part she’d ever seen before, and she found herself having to resist a girlish giggle. She ran her fingers up and down it, slowly, not yet sure whether she intended to wake him up. It was so curious how it seemed to have more skin than it needed to be the size it was, and how soft and smooth the skin was. When she traced the vein that ran on the underside of his cock, Sandor shifted in his sleep and let out a rather unmanly whine. Arya suddenly had a wicked idea, and once it was in her head, she couldn’t get it back out. She dove underneath the furs, grasped Sandor’s cock firmly in her hands, and licked the tip. His cock grew and hardened immediately in her hand, and she heard him shift in his sleep. Then, slowly, she took him into her mouth. She bobbed herself up and down a few times experimentally. Trying it now, she wasn’t sure how exactly women took much more than half of a cock in their mouths without gagging or having to stop and breathe. A few moments later, she had to stop and gasp for air, then start again. As she put her warm mouth around his cock again, tracing the vein on the underside of his cock with her tongue, Sandor groaned above her and opened his thighs wider. She felt his giant hand on the back of her head, not pushing hard, but definitely holding her in place. Then, the furs flew off the top of her, and she saw Sandor propped up on an elbow, watching her. His eyes looked practically worshipful, and when he choked out “Arya”, Arya knew that she was hooked on this feeling of power.

Then, she felt his hand pushing down behind her, forcing more of him into her mouth, and she couldn’t help but gag and sputter. Sandor pulled his hand back suddenly as Arya let his cock go and gasped for air, coughing. Sandor’s face crumpled, like she’d just broken his damn heart, as he reached both huge hands under her armpits, hauling her back up next to him, muttering “girl, are you allright? M’Sorry…” Arya’s cheeks flamed – she’d clearly done something wrong. “Sorry” she whispered. I’d never done that before.” Sandor held her close, planting a huge kiss on her forehead. “Gods, wolf-girl, don’t apologize. That felt like I was fucking dying…” he saw her face look a little confused - “in a good way, girl. It felt bloody fantastic.” He looked ashamed. “Shouldn’t’ve pushed. Fucking rude of me. I’m just…used to whores I guess. They don’t mind so much.”

Arya had caught her breath now and was annoyed with herself that she’d lost the moment. “I can try again” she whispered in his ear. “I bet I can do better this time around.” Sandor looked down at her, amused. “You don’t have to, girl. It’s not like I paid you for it.” Arya had no answer for something that stupid except to glare at him and roll her eyes. “Just don’t push, Sandor.” He seemed about to reply, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed in the very satisfying whimper he let out when she put her mouth around him again. As she started again, he was gripping the sheets, clearly resisting an urge to push himself further in. Arya put a hand on his inner thigh, took a deep breath, and took him further into her mouth, until the head of his cock brushed the roof of her mouth. She earned another very satisfying shaky “Arya”. She began to get the hang of it, breathing through her nose, finding the places she could tongue that made him moan and buck beneath her. After a few minutes of her experimentation, He took one of her hands in his and moved it to his balls to cup them, and before long, he was groaning her name. “Arya, if you don’t want to swallow it, best stop now.” Arya looked up at him, met his eyes, and took him as deep as she could, squeezing his balls lightly as she did. Sandor put his own hand over his mouth and let out a muffled roar, thrusting into her mouth a few times as he spent in her mouth. She swallowed most of it until she felt she might start coughing again, then pulled away, the rest spurting on her face near her mouth. Meeting Sandor’s eyes again, she wiped her mouth with her hand, and then licked the remaining seed off it and swallowed. Sandor’s whole massive body shuddered, and he pulled her up again and trapped her in his arms. She could feel his heartbeat slowing and his muscles relaxing. She had brought the warrior to his knees, it seemed.

Arya smiled against his chest. “Good?” she asked, smugly.

“Better than the best whore I’ve ever had.” Arya felt herself swell with pride. It might be stupid, she knew, but compliments from the Hound about anything were few and far between. She couldn’t stop beaming like an idiot into his chest as he stroked her hair. Soon, his fingers became more purposeful, and he ran them across her back, and then ran one finger straight down her spine, down the back of her breeches. Arya gasped and pushed herself against him, and he cupped her ass. Then, one finger dipped from behind into her heat and he groaned appreciatively. “You’re wet just from doing that? Gods Arya. You actually like this, don’t you?” Arya blushed and nodded against him. He shook his head at her in bewilderment. “Wanting a miserable old cunt like me…There’s something wrong with you, girl,” Arya pulled away and glared murderously at him. His eyes widened slightly as he backtracked. “I’m not turning you down, I’m just saying…”

“You should stop talking.”

“Aye”. Sandor muttered, and then Arya was on her back and he was all around her, kissing her insistently, propping himself up on an elbow and tugging at the bottom of her shirt, as he kicked off his own breeches and smallclothes. “Clothes off, wolf girl. Now. We’re in a comfortable bed, the door is locked, and apparently you want this. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t see straight.” Arya shivered in spite of herself as she rushed to comply. The man above her was three times her size. She couldn’t see anything but him in the dim candlelight as he pulled her waist towards him and pulled at the laces at the back of her shirt. She wiggled out of her breeches and smallclothes and was very quickly naked underneath the Hound. She reached out to stroke his cock, which was hardening again, and heard him hiss in pleasure as she did. Then, to her surprise, he swatted her hand away and moved her wrist above her head, leaning close to nip at her ear. “Hands to yourself. None of that. Not until I make you howl.” Arya grinned at him and reached out with her other hand instead. She loved seeing him lose his composure.

She had forgotten how fast he was. In an instant, both her hands were above her head, held down with one of his giant hands. She struggled a bit underneath him, trying to see if she could get free. He leaned back to her ear and bit at it. It hurt, and she yelped. His voice in her ear was still laced with lust, but it was more dangerous now. She felt him squeeze her wrists together. “Keep. These. Here”. He said, his tone clearly a warning. She left her arms where he put them, waiting to find her moment to get back at him until…OH.

His mouth was on her, lapping at her cunt like a dog. Every stroke of his tongue against the hood of her clit sent sparks into her core. But then, he spread her lower lips with his fingers, and his tongue pressed directly down, and she felt a small strain in her throat and realized it was because she had screamed loud enough to make her hoarse as a huge hand clamped around her mouth. “Yell as loud as you want, wolf-girl. I’ll not stop.” Arya was lost, her hips thrusting up into his tongue, moaning into his hand. It was too much, almost painful, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to be gentler. Even if it hurt, being lost in him was better. Just for a moment, for the first time in a long time, she let herself be lost. Let herself let go.

And it felt glorious. She felt like she might explode, but it was too much, too intense. She brought her hands down to Sandor’s shoulders to try and push him back, get a break, and his hand grabbed her wrists yet again. “Too much” she gasped out. He let go of her arms and moved himself back up to her lips. His beard was wet, and he tasted like her. “Relax, girl,” he whispered, running his fingers down her sides. It tickled, and she giggled a little and squirmed. She felt him smile against her as he kissed her belly, then moved his mouth back down, holding her hips still as he licked more gently at her again. She bucked up into his grip. He met her eyes and smiled wickedly at her, then his mouth was sucking at her nub again as he slowly pushed his finger inside her, tickling something, some spot deep inside her. Any hope of composure broke then, and she groaned his name. His touches grew firmer, more insistent, and a few moments later Arya was truly lost, arching off the bed as she tensed, then letting out a long, low moan as she peaked, letting out a gush of wetness as she came down, lost in the tingling, heady sensation.

Sandor worked her through it, moving slower and softer against her until she finally opened her eyes and saw him poised above her.

“Good?” he asked smugly, mimicking her question from earlier. She could feel herself blushing scarlet. She tried to give him some sassy retort, but found words hard to form, and found herself simply nodding up at him in the dim light. He chuckled and rolled to her side, holding her close as he kissed her, one of his hands grasping possessively at her breast, the other on her ass, pressing her against his cock. “Cat got your tongue?” he teased, laughing. “Weren’t so quiet a moment ago. Never heard a whore make those noises. Guess I did alright. You look properly _fucked_ , girl, and we’ve barely started.” Arya felt herself blushing even more, and she ducked her head down and away from him, not particularly wanting to see his face. She wasn’t sure whether he was mocking her or complimenting her, and she suddenly felt very self-conscious that she’d let him, let _anyone_ , see her unguarded like that.

Sandor didn’t seem to notice at first, humming low as he ground himself ever more insistently into her. When she stiffened slightly, he stopped, and drew back. Arya’s brain was suddenly racing. Without the adrenaline of their first time or the wine of last night, this felt very, very real, and she felt small, and young, and a little stupid. Even though she’d felt so confident earlier. But it was even worse that he’d noticed. She didn’t want to be…difficult. And she was pissed at herself for caring. Since when was she so bloody _sensitive_?

“Arya?” Sandor’s voice was strained with desire, but he stopped rutting against her. “Y’alright?”

“M’fine” she muttered into his chest.

His giant hand moved from her ass to her chin, tilting it up towards him and holding it so that she couldn’t squirm away as he leaned back on his shoulder. He chuckled a little. “Gods, girl, you’re the color of a strawberry. What’s wrong?”

Arya could not for the life of her figure out how to put words to her feeling, of being exposed, and nervous, and a little embarrassed, but also _wanting_ to be here so badly. “It’s…don’t make fun.. I…just don’t want…You’ve done this…a lot…and I…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

\--

Sandor’s smirk disappeared immediately. This was no fun if she got all shy on him. What, did she think he was some sort of ladies’ man? He’d only done that thing with his tongue once before and he was mostly relieved he hadn’t made a fool of himself. And _she’d_ been the one who’d jumped _him_ , after all…and woken _him_ up…he shook his head at her. Women didn’t make any bloody sense, especially not high-born ones, stands to reason the wolf girl would be the same, now that she was a woman. He did his best to avoid sneering at her and did the only thing he was completely sure she liked, pulling her close against him. He felt her breathe out clasped against his chest. “Arya…” he started, having very little idea how to reassure the girl when he couldn’t figure out what in seven hells she thought she’d done wrong, so just said what came to mind “you didn’t do anything bloody wrong” Arya breathed against his chest but said nothing. _Wonderful_. He tried again. "Never seen you get shy about _anything_. Hells, you jumped _me_ , girl.” he tried his best to soften his tone, stroking her hair gently.

“Just…don’t laugh at me. I know you’ve probably had hundreds of whores who already know how to do all this but…I’ve…just don’t laugh at me.”

Oh. Right. He sighed. He hadn’t been laughing _at_ her…that had been _appreciative_ laughter. Because those noises she had made were fucking perfect. She was this gorgeous, responsive little nymph in bed, it had turned out, and he frankly couldn’t believe his luck…but then he remembered that for all her bravado, she had still been raised a little highborn girl, and probably didn’t entirely get that sex was something she was supposed to enjoy as much as she clearly did. Well _that_ he needed to stamp out of her right quick. He pulled her up to his face, putting his forehead on hers.

“First off, how the fuck do you think I’ve had hundreds of whores? How much money do you think I have, girl? You know they charge extra for ugly bastards like me.”

He got a small smile out of that. “You’ve still had more than I have.”

He laughed. “Aye, I should hope so. Second," He said, moving his hand down her back again, tracing lazy patterns, “You’re fucking perfect at this. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you different, either.” He smirked. “You’re not perfect at anything else, mind. You still bleat at me too much, and you think you’re some bloody warrior because you learned some flouncy moves from a Braavosi water dancer. You’re still a half-crazed wolf pup.” At this, she made that little indignant scowl she often wore, but at least she didn’t seem embarrassed anymore. His voice lowered to a growl as he remembered again the way she had called out his name when she came. “But here, in my bed, that’s _exactly_ how I want you to be.” He felt her curl herself against him suggestively again. He wasn’t even sure she knew she was doing it. He let his hands roam down the sides of her breasts, and down to cup her ass. “I _want_ to hear you moan, and scream, and whine. I _want_ you to lose control. That’s…” he slipped his hand lower, tickling the insides of her thighs, making her tense and shiver against him. “That’s what really good sex is, girl. It’s letting it all go. Losing yourself in it.” As he spoke, he started rutting against her again, moving her under him. “I don’t want some perfumed whore who puts on some act for me. I want _you_ , Arya Stark. _All_ of you.” His fingers dipped into her wet heat and she gasped. “So don’t you _dare_ get shy on me.” his fingers slipped into her again and she gasped his name and clutched at his arms and his erection became painfully hard, and impossible to ignore any longer.

 “ _Sandor_ …” he wanted to make her say it again. He started that same movement from before, curling his fingers inside her. “One of these nights,” he said calmly, pumping a finger slowly inside her as she bit her lip, “I’m going to make you beg for me, tease you like this until you can’t stand it, put you on your knees begging for my cock” Arya shivered, and the image he’d just formed in his mind threatened to make him lose all semblance of control. “But tonight,” he smiled. “You’re far too gorgeous for me to wait.” She leaned up at that and put her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely. He groaned into her mouth and lined his cock up with her entrance, sliding in. She was luxuriously wet and soft and tight. The knowledge that he was the only man who’d ever been inside her was intoxicating. She yelped a little as he pushed further inside her, biting at his lip hard. “There’s my girl” he whispered to her approvingly.

He took her slowly at first, until she whined and thrust up and him, demanding more, and then he gave her what she wanted, pulling her legs up so that her calves rested on his chest and fucking her hard and deep. He felt her eyes on him and watched her face scrunch up deliciously before she gasped as she came, not as hard, it seemed, as the last one, but still enough to make her continue to moan his name. It didn’t take too many of her “Sandor, please”es to realize he was about to come. Almost too late, he remembered that they were _not_ planning on dying tomorrow, and pulled out, coming on her little flat stomach in spurts, then collapsing on the bed next to her. The little minx was scooping up his seed with a wicked look in her eyes and bringing her fingers to her mouth, and if his cock had been even a little bit able to twitch, he was sure it would have. Instead, he grabbed her a handkerchief and cleaned her off himself. She put her head on his shoulder, and he pulled her in close.

“Coming inside me is way less messy” she mused. Sandor laughed “Yeah, and way more dangerous. Not worth it, wolf girl.”

Arya seemed about to say something, but then shut her mouth. The sky was lightening outside the windows as they lay in silence for a few moments, until the approaching sunrise was impossible to ignore.

“I have to go, Arya. Can’t get caught in here.”

Arya made what he could only imagine as the sound a pout would make if a pout made noise. “I’m not going to get any more sleep if you’re not here.”

“You’ll just have to make do without me, girl.” With some difficulty, he unwound her hands from him – despite her protests, she seemed like she would almost certainly fall asleep once he left – and stood, grabbing his clothes from the floor. Arya watched him quietly. He puttered more than was probably necessary, moving the table away from the door, pulling out a shift for her from a hook on the wall and throwing it at her – probably wouldn’t be wonderful for her brother or sister to find her naked in her own bed looking suspiciously, well, fucked – but soon there was nothing more to do. He walked back and sat on the edge of the bed, and Arya scooted up next to him.

“Are we going to keep doing this?” she asked, her voice quiet, and maybe…hopeful? Or worried? He couldn’t really tell. She didn’t sound like herself – she sounded so bloody…defenseless. It was disconcerting.

“Dunno. Depends on when the Dragon bitch wants to go to Kings Landing.”

Arya had the same quiet tone when she asked, “Do you _want_ to keep doing this?”

How the fuck could she think he didn’t? He tackled her back into the bed and kissed her, finally bringing a smile to her lips. “’Course I do. Don’t be stupid, girl.” Arya Stark, he realized, had a great smile. Gods, what a ridiculous, romantic thought. He sat up.

“War council today.” He grumbled. “We’ll see what the plan is then, I ‘spose.”

He had a sudden thought. Arya had that horrible habit now of slipping out of places, sneaking between rooms, travelling unseen. It was his own voice that had a small quiver to it, much to his chagrin, when he spoke. “Wolf bitch, don’t you dare leave Winterfell without telling me. I’ll find you and skin you alive if you do.”

“I won’t. Don’t you leave without telling me either.”

“I won’t.”

This bloody goodbye had gone on long enough. Without another word, Sandor slipped out into the quiet, pre-dawn hallways and made his way back to his room. When he lay down on the too-small bed he’d been provided, he didn’t sleep a wink.


End file.
